


from the gutter

by brodinsons (aeon_entwined)



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:12:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeon_entwined/pseuds/brodinsons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filling a <b><a href="http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/9761.html?thread=1303841#t1303841">prompt</a></b> on the kinkmeme:</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Valjean gets to show off some of that infamous strength of his by getting Javert to wrap his legs around him, picking him up and fucking him against the wall like that.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	from the gutter

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [出淤泥](https://archiveofourown.org/works/746727) by [styx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/styx/pseuds/styx)



> whoops ... I porned (sort of)

He drags Javert from the tavern, hauling him by his collar through the back door and out into the alley.

Javert's feet slip and skid over slick cobbles, scarcely able to find traction. He groans pathetically, but Valjean forges onward, half carrying the inspector relentlessly in spite of his continued protests.

Finally, Javert's legs crumple beneath his weight. He cries out as his knees hit the cold ground, and Valjean immediately halts, turning his attention to the bedraggled form at his feet.

Javert looks mostly intact, though it's clear that the young men holding the barricade were not gentle when they apprehended him. Blood trickles sluggishly from the inspector's right temple; Valjean can almost imagine the impact of the butt of a rifle against the tender skin. There's more trailing down Javert's neck from behind his right ear, though Valjean can't discern what would have caused that. His throat is chafed nearly raw from the noose, though there seems to be superficial damage only.

Valjean stares for a moment more, only now realizing how very close Javert came to death at their hands. Wordlessly, he kneels in front of the inspector, placing the borrowed weapons aside in order to frame Javert's face in his hands, tilting his head far enough for their eyes to meet.

"Are you hurt?" he demands lowly, sweeping his gaze over the myriad of small cuts and bruises littering Javert's cheeks and brow.

Javert flinches, as if expecting to be struck. He stares at Valjean like a feral creature, poised on the edge of a fight or flight.

"Are you injured?" Valjean tries again. "Do you need a doctor?"

Javert shakes his head at last, though his expression remains utterly perplexed. 

With a resigned sigh, Valjean lets his hands drop to his own knees. He breathes in, then sees the ropes binding Javert's wrists together. He'd entirely forgotten about it in his need to ascertain whether or not Javert required the attentions of a doctor.

He reaches for the knife beside him, then raises both brows when Javert inhales sharply, eyeing him like a wild beast might observe its future executioner. Valjean frowns, but reaches forward regardless, seizing Javert's nearest hand in order to hold him still as he slices through the bonds, leaving the inspector freed.

Javert snatches his hands away, though his expression has shifted from perplexed to anguished. Valjean can't imagine the cause for it.

"Why are you doing this?"

Valjean frowns, then replaces the knife, leaving it on the cobbled ground. "You've done your duty. As have I. We need not sour it with petty vengeance. It's not worth anything to me. You're free."

Silence reigns, disturbed only by the occasional shift of their clothing as they breathe.

Javert is the first to move, staggering to his feet on legs shaking like a newborn colt's. He remains upright, but Valjean imagines a faint breeze would tip him over without effort. 

Valjean follows, reaching out to steady Javert with one hand curled tight over the man's elbow. Javert shudders briefly, then angles a searching look at Valjean.

"Men like us," he begins. "We cannot change."

Valjean fancies he understands what Javert is hinting at, though he's likely trying to avoid provoking his temper. Smart man. "You're wrong. Everyone is capable of change. Even you."

Javert grinds his teeth, the muscles in his neck standing out as he turns away. Valjean is struck with the sudden desire to put his mouth there, discover the taste of the sweat on Javert's skin. He blinks. The urge is still there, simmering beneath the surface of his thoughts.

Javert must sense the change because he turns back, flicking his gaze over Valjean's features. Their eyes meet.

Valjean watches the man's pupils contract, revealing more of the grey irises. He can scarcely breathe.

He isn't entirely sure which of them moves first, but they are both reaching for one another, fingers tangling in short hair, grasping for an anchor in this sudden storm.

Valjean places his lips on Javert's throat, then carefully parts them, flicking his tongue out to taste the abraded skin. Javert gasps above him, strong fingers tightening in his silvered curls. Valjean growls in reply, shoving closer to press their bodies flush together.

Without the layers of Javert's uniform between them, the heat is scalding. Valjean closes his eyes and shoves the bridge of his nose against the rough line of Javert's jaw, suckling at the skin beneath his lips until it flushes a healthy pink.

Javert is whining high in his throat, arching and rubbing against the corded muscles of Valjean's thigh as he scrabbles at the ex-convict's broad shoulders. The sounds are driving Valjean _mad_.

With a rumbling snarl, he slides his hands beneath Javert's thighs and hoists him into his arms. Javert cries out in surprise, his arms flying around Valjean's shoulders as he holds on for dear life. 

"Put your legs around my waist," Valjean orders roughly, tearing himself away from Javert's throat in order to snatch his mouth in a bruising kiss. 

Javert whimpers into the kiss, eyes shut tight, but he obeys without question, deceptively strong legs wrapping tight around the bend of his waist. Valjean grunts as their cocks press together, rigid heat against aching flesh.

It takes less than a second for him to move forward, pinning Javert against the alley wall with his weight. Javert gasps in surprise, but his grip doesn't falter. If anything, his legs squeeze tighter, prompting Valjean to thrust blindly forward, knocking Javert's hips against the slick stones.

He wishes this would last forever. In truth, he knows they have hardly any time at all. 

Valjean curses himself a dozen times over, then curses Javert as well. Perhaps he has damned them, but then, they have always been shackled together. This is something he will bear willingly if it means they will not be forced apart. 

He deepens the kiss, thrusting his tongue into Javert's mouth as he grinds forward into the welcoming cradle of the inspector's hips. Their cocks rub together through the two layers of their trousers, providing a delirious amount of friction. Idly, Valjean wonders what this would be like on a proper bed with no barriers between them.

The image itself is enough to light a scalding fire in the pit of his belly, pushing him higher and higher towards that unknown peak. He growls and bites at Javert's lips, eliciting a startled whine as the man obediently opens his mouth again. 

Valjean pistons his hips up at a relentless pace, shoving Javert against the wall with enough force that a distant part of his mind knows there will be bruises upon his hip bones and back. Bruises _he_ put there. His grip on the inspector's thighs spasms at the thought.

He tears his mouth away from Javert's, then sinks his teeth into the unmarked flesh at the place where the man's shoulder disappears beneath the collar of his shirt. 

Javert positively _wails_ , the sound echoing down the alley before Valjean can think to stifle it with his own lips. He jerks and shudders in Valjean's arms, clutching frantically at his shoulders. 

Valjean manages to pull back far enough to see his face, watching avidly as Javert's features contort in pleasure. 

He is beautiful like this, Valjean thinks. Beautiful in that terrible way that all vicious and relentless things are. 

It takes several more thrusts against Javert's pliant weight for Valjean to find his own climax. When he does, the world around him seems to shimmer at the edges, painting everything an oddly pale shade. He gulps air desperately, then makes a startled sound when Javert catches his face in both hands and kisses him until the trembling has ceased.

He releases his hold on Javert's left thigh, his palm slapping against the wall at the man's back, supporting his own weakened legs and Javert's weight alike. Valjean breathes steadily, slowing his racing heartbeat and leashing the tempest gradually subsiding in his mind.

Finally, he relinquishes his hold on Javert entirely, allowing the man to release the hold on his waist and regain his own feet. Javert stumbles once his boots hit the cobbled ground and Valjean catches his elbow again, steadying him.

They stare at one another for a long moment.

"If I come out of this alive, you'll find me at Rue Plumet number five," Valjean breaks the silence, holding Javert's gaze calmly. "No doubt our paths will cross again."

Javert stares at him, as if unable to comprehend that the ex-convict he's chased for a third of his life has simply offered himself up. Valjean would almost find it amusing, if he weren't calmly making peace with his decision.

Instead, Javert surprises him by grabbing the back of his neck in one broad hand and shoving their mouths together.

It could scarcely be called a kiss, with their teeth clacking together and noses bumping like inexperienced adolescents. But Valjean wouldn't call it anything less. He reciprocates with equal fervor, one hand rising to fist in Javert's short-cropped hair.

Moments later they part, breathing hard.

Valjean moves to collect the pistol he left on the cobbles, then straightens with it in his hand. "Go."

Javert begins backing down the alley, relief and confusion warring for dominance in his expression. 

" _Go_."

He turns, then, and runs. Valjean pulls the trigger. The bullet smashes into the wall meters away from Javert's fleeing figure, littering the cobbles with bits of plaster. 

Valjean exhales harshly, then watches Javert disappear around the bend of the alley. 

Gone.


End file.
